England Summer 2018 Bob and Molly As is usual on our extended visits to England, we spend our time in our Nephew’s flat in Ilkley and essentially spend our days in much the same way as we do when we are in Mason. In addition, we take advantage of the many excellent restaurants and enjoy the change of pace that a small town provides. Molly reverts to her “England-style”, and shops almost every day; walking down into the town, getting provisions sufficient for a day or two and then takes advantage of the hourly bus service to get back up the steep hill to the apartment. Bob usually goes for a walk or, weather per- mitting, a bike ride—both very enjoyable forms of exer- cise in some beautiful countryside. We also spend a lot of time with family and friends. Consequently, our routine doesn’t demand much cover- age in our journal and the daily “diary” is used merely as a reminder of the events—many of which are repeated day after day. We do, however, spend some time that we feel merits a little more coverage and it is that which com- prises the bulk of our journal. This summer was no ex- ception and, in fact, included several “adventures” that we cover here and that might provide readers with some- thing of interest. In fact, this six weeks seemed to fly by and we felt that we had packed a lot into our stay. So, while the daily diary is included as an Appendix for our records, the bulk of the journal deals with those more “out of the ordinary” events. A Trip to the Seaside As we have said, one of the forms of exercise that Bob enjoys in England is cycling. The terrain in York- shire is much different to that around Warren County and provides a good deal harder cardiovascular workout as well as an exposure to some stunning countryside. The downside versus Ohio is usually the weather—generally cooler, often with rain and usually with some stiff breezes. However, this summer was unusually hot and dry in much of Europe and England experienced temperatures in the eighties on a number of days. Rainfall was also unusually low (with the threat of water use restrictions in many areas) to the extent that the River Wharfe that runs through Ilkley was barely flowing at times and so many rocks were exposed that it was almost possible to walk across without getting wet! During our six weeks stay in Ilkley, I made a number of local rides of between 20 and 40 miles apiece, cycling mainly along country roads, although at times on busier thoroughfares of necessity. One of my favorite rides is one I refer to as “Round the Mountain”, in which I take roads that completely encircle Ilkley Moor. It has some busy stretches leaving Ilkley and through Shipley but otherwise the major routes for cars and trucks have bypassed the towns and I take what in my youth were the main roads but are ow relatively quiet. This route—and several others that I enjoy—has plenty of pleasant countryside, some challenging hills and some nice “flat” segments, and there are a number of places where I can stop fro a coffee if I wish. In addition, my bike takes me to places so familiar to me in my youth such that it is really a ride down memory lane. So, with these opportunities for good rides, why would I even consider one in which I might need an overnight stay? Frankly, one reason this challenge was heightened this year was by the heroic efforts of a friend who for 100 days this summer was cycling across America—almost 4000 miles of biking in a group of 10 unsupported riders; that is, everything they needed for the journey was on their bikes! I have had a “dream” to make this trip ever since I did my own big ride across Britain but am now resigned to living vicariously through someone else’s efforts. But at times I feel the urge to “test” my abilities and do a ride that will convince me that I could still do the Transamerica—or not! I needed a destination that could be reached in a day (no more than, say, 70 miles from Ilkley). Since my bike in England is not equipped with panniers, I needed a “sag wagon” to bring overnight things and a change of clothing. As Molly doesn’t drive in England, she had to bring my things by bus or train. Final- ly, we needed somewhere to stay (hotel, not campground!) before the return trip. The seaside resort of Morecambe in Lancashire’s west coast fir the bill. As a holiday town, it has hotels and restaurants, it is easily reachable by train (one change of station en route from Ilkley) and, by the least traveled roads, about 60 miles away. Perfect! In addition, I must admit, Morecambe holds fond memories of my childhood as we had a trailer home there and our family spent many weekends and sum- mer breaks there in the 1950s. Molly was agreeable to two-day break and eventually seemed quite excited about traveling by train once we had determined that the schedule was easy and the change train stop was convenient. I, too, became more enamored with the idea and we began looking for a 48 hour period of good weather and one in which we had no other commitments. Monday and Tuesday, July 25 and 26, fit the bill……….. On Monday morning, which was sunny and warm with a promise of very high temperatures later in the day, the plan was for me to leave after breakfast and for Molly to take an afternoon train, with the two of us meeting up at the Crown Hotel in Morecambe in the early evening- all being well. My route had been well defined through the use of Google maps and, much as I had on my ride across Britain in 1992, I had prepared a cheat sheet defining all the necessary turns as well as approximate mile markers. These would provide an easily accessible guide and hopefully limit the number of times that I would refer to maps on my phone. OUTLINE I left Wells House at exactly 9am and started the easy part of the ride along the Wharfe Valley to Bolton Abbey (6 miles). Here I turned left and up the hill past Hesketh Farm. This was the first climb of many and I started with a little trepidation not only because of the grade but because on my last ride on this qui- et stretch I had encountered a couple of bulls roaming the road near the crest. On that occasion I had stopped for quite a few minutes waiting for their reaction to my trespassing on their territory and had even been prepared to turn around and head back down the hill if necessary. That option wasn’t very ap- pealing today as it would have added several miles to an already long enough ride. Fortunately, not only was the climb less steep than I had remembered but there were no animals of any description to impede my path, so I was soon on the rewarding downward stretch into the village of Embsay, now with about 10 miles under my belt. From Embsay (where I had been many times on bike rides from Ilkley) It was a relatively easy ride to cross the Grassington Road near Rylstone and then on to the tiny village of Hetton, known for the Angel Inn. I recalled that it was here that my Mum and dad had celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. Could it really have been sixty years?? A few miles further on, after the village of Airton, things began to get a little tougher as I started the climb over this particular ridge in the Pennines. There were several short 20% grades as part of a 5 or 6 mile climb to the top, where I was rewarded with views over the hills and valleys to the west. The climb was not without its excitement in another way. The bulls that I had feared (and missed) earlier in the ride appeared on another lonely stretch of this open moorland. And not just two, but several groups of 3 or 4 huge Highland bulls with long horns! Some were on the road, others on the grass to either side—but all headed in my direction and seemingly converging on the path in front of me. I hesitated, hoping for some company, preferably in the form of a car or tractor, but the only signs of life were me and the bulls. I suppose that they really were ignoring me and certainly were not intent on harm (if they were, it would have been a simple matter for any one of them, let alone the group) but I moved very tentatively for a while. After perhaps five minutes, I sensed a gap opening up which might allow me to pass my companions but I waited until I could get up a good head of steam before making my dash. I made it successfully with barely a glance from any of the beasts and, as soon as I was clear, was greeted by a car approaching from the opposite direction. A little earlier he might have provided me some cover but, from the look on the driver’s face, he was almost as nervous as I had been a few minutes earlier.